That Was Unexpected
by SoulMalady
Summary: Back to my roots. Six months after the war, Harry has a dream that prompts him to go back to Hogwarts for his 'Eighth Year' and to write his N.E.W.Ts, much to Ron's chagrin and Hermione's glee. Little do they know that he also has another motivation behind revisiting his past. It is going to be a rather unexpected year for the gang. (Slash!)
1. Dream

Harry had just had one of those nights where he felt as though he had been asleep for ages and ages. His head felt heavy, he was sweating from the summer heat, and all he wanted to do was disappear into blackness. Even so, thoughts in his mind had yet to disappear. Confusion and gloom was still clouding around him. He rolled over onto his back with a frustrated groan. For the past few months he had been restless, unable to figure out what to do with his life. When he thought about how he had no certain plan, he would start panicking. It became so much worse at night, when he had nothing that helped him keep his mind off of his aimlessness. He was just so tired all the time. Especially when he woke up.

He sat up with a yawn. It must already be past nine. He was used to sleeping in. What else was he supposed to do with his mornings? Answer more interview questions and go to more court dates? He had had enough of that for a lifetime.

He blinked twice and looked around, first at the open windows that let in a warm breeze and then at the door that was wide open. This wasn't his room. "Huh," he mumbled, scratching his stubbly chin in puzzlement. He had been so sure that he had fallen asleep in his own room. He slipped out of bed unsteadily and grabbed his glasses off the bedside table so he could take a closer look around. This _definitely_ wasn't his bedroom. He walked to the window and stared out. He wasn't at 12 Grimmauld Place at all. He could actually see green grass instead of dusty buildings. He was up a few floors and the flat seemed to be right next to a park.

Then he realized that he was still dreaming.

He hesitated for a moment before moving towards the door. Wouldn't hurt to look around. This didn't seem like a _bad_ dream. Perhaps one of the more boring ones he had had in a while, but that wasn't bad. He found himself in a short, white corridor. Opening the door directly in front of the bedroom, he was in a tiny bathroom. Two toothbrushes, two towel sets, various pomades and salves arranged on a small shelf… The works. He inspected himself in the mirror. Still looked the same.

He walked out of there and down the corridor. On either side of the hall were photographs in mismatch frames. He slowed when he saw familiar faces – his parents dancing at Godric's Hollow, Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, Luna in front of the Whomping Willow, Neville after getting his first bunch of letters from admirers, him and Ginny sitting by the lake, and many others. So this was his place. He paused to smile at a particularly funny picture that he had forgotten about, where he and the Weasley children had gathered in front of the Burrow for a winter photo taken by Arthur on his 'new-fangled' Muggle camera. It was blurry and Arthur's finger had snuck in at the bottom left corner, but it had been a great time. He made a mental note to himself to dig up that photograph when he woke up.

Then things got a bit strange.

There were photographs he had never seen before adorning the other side. He leaned in to peer at them. George waving in front of a new Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, Teddy grinning toothily up at the camera, him riding a Firebolt wearing a Quidditch uniform that wasn't Gryffindor red and gold, Ron and Seamus pretending to pelt rocks at the Whomping Willow, a brand new Hogwarts that had been rebuilt after the war, Luna pointing at the lake excitedly, Ron and Hermione's wedding… These things didn't happen. Or, rather, it hadn't happened yet.

Teddy was grown up in the next picture. He was dressed in black, waterproof coveralls and standing in the middle of a lake. He was holding a flopping fish in one hand that managed to get out of his little grasp with ease just seconds later. Then there was another photo where Harry was showing off a big trophy and grinning wide. In the next one, Teddy and some little Weasleys were covered in mud and holding out handfuls of worms proudly. Then there was an enormous birthday party with all the Weasleys standing in front of the Burrow.

And there was the newest photograph.

It was blurry at first, but it panned in and focused on Harry's bedraggled face. His hair was abysmal as it lay in disarray across his pillow. He smiled at the camera that he seemed to be holding himself. Then the picture moved slightly to the left.

Draco fluttered his eyes open, frowning as soon as he saw the camera. He tried to roll over and hide under the sheets, but he was pulled around. The camera moved about for a bit before settling on a shot of the two of them lying side-by-side in bed, heads pressed together so they could get in on one frame, Draco raising a hand to hold the camera steadier. Harry turned his head to the side to nuzzle him, making him smile.

Harry crossed his arms against his chest and examined the picture carefully.

He had run into Malfoy a few weeks ago, at Wizengamot. All he had felt at that moment had been apathy. In fact, he had thought that he would never see a Malfoy in his life ever again, not if he could help it. That family was doomed. So why was he dreaming of this?

He glanced to the right when he heard water running. He stood where he was, waiting and listening. He had to know what changed.

A few moments later, Draco walked out the bathroom, raking a hand through his mussed hair and yawning. Dressed in loose grey pajamas, he looked so young. "Hey," he sighed, trailing his fingers across Harry's back as he passed by. "Tea or coffee?"

Harry opened his eyes and stared up at his familiar white canopy.

* * *

"You want to what?" Ron exclaimed in horror while Hermione echoed that question, but her sentiments were vastly different and one of jubilation.

"I haven't gotten my NEWTs yet," Harry tried to reason with his best friend. "You should come with us. It'll be like old times. One last hurrah before we officially enter the real world."

"But school?" Ron whined. "I don't _want_ to go back. I already did so much. Why do I have to do more? Why won't people just give me money for saving their children?"

"We'll probably get a free pass through school in any case," Harry said with a sly grin. "And we've still got to play some Quidditch, right? I haven't played in ages."

Hermione watched her friends bicker from her perch on the edge of the coffee table. She was incredibly excited to see Harry this way. For the past few months, she had been genuinely worried about his lack of focus and vague interactions. But now, with all this talk about continuing with his education, he seemed a lot more present. Whatever the reason was for the change, she was all for it.

"Ron, you're coming with us and that's final," Harry insisted. "Now… who else do you think we could round up?"

* * *

Once the whole crew, consisting of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Neville, were all settled in the Hogwarts Express, their topics of conversation turned to exciting thoughts on how the castle might have changed and what sorts of new things would be taught. It was NEWT year for most of them. Hermione was most looking forward to both History and Muggle Studies while Harry and Ron couldn't wait to see who their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was going to be. Neville piped in to tell that it was just called Defense Magic now, to which Ron and Harry vocally protested. Luna told them all about the things her father had planned for the coming year in terms of articles for the magazine and its expansion. She urged Harry to give yet another interview. He glanced at Ginny pleadingly to see if she would help him get out of that noose. She smiled smugly instead and shook her head at him. When the food arrived, he treated them all to sweets and pastries.

"Oh," Luna remarked absently after swallowing her bite of pumpkin pasty. "What do you think about the Sorting Ceremony now?"

Her friends looked at each other in confusion, then back at her, tilting their heads to the side. "What about it?" they asked.

"I feel a bit sad when I think about baby Slytherins."

"Ah, yes." Hermione understood. She sat back and sighed thoughtfully. "Well, it's not as if they have _no_ good role models in that house. But I see your point, Luna. Sorting makes things a bit hairy, don't you think?"

"Then… they'll get _rid_ of houses?" Neville hesitated.

Everyone sat silently for a long while. Could that be done? The tradition had gone on for so many years that it was practically set in stone. In fact, it was most likely set in stone somewhere in the Headmistress' office. But, in lieu of recent events, would things change? It didn't after the first war, but maybe it would now. That would be strange, to not have houses.

"But what about Quidditch?" Ron exclaimed in horror. "We've _got_ to have houses for Quidditch!"

"If we don't have houses, then there can be more than four Quidditch teams," Ginny reasoned.

Harry's brows went up. Now there was a thought. "And we could get all kinds of players," he murmured slowly.

Ron was sitting up straight by then, realizing that his friends were being led astray. "But the House Cup!" he blurted out in desperation. "Points! Dorms! Common rooms! Come on, people! Focus here!"

"Calm down, Ron," Ginny drawled. "We're just talking."

Four hours later…

"You've got to be kidding me…" Ron breathed as he took in the transformed Great Hall.

Seven tables were spread across the floor, Hogwarts banners swaying in a slight breeze above them, and absolutely _no_ indication of red, blue, green, or yellow _anywhere_. Looking down at his uniform, he gulped when he saw that his Gryffindor crest had been erased.

"Oops." Luna shrugged. "Spoke too soon."

Hermione laughed hysterically behind her hand. The Great Hall looked much the same in all other sense, with its grand windows, soaring candles and starry sky. The staff table sat across the length at the opposite end and it was already filled with teachers, many of them new faces. And above each of the tables floated a number from one to seven made from a ribbon of white silk, indicating the year that was to be seated there. Students tentatively made their way to their respective tables. Luna tugged Ginny along with her as they made their way to table six. Ginny looked back at Harry in distress and all he could do was raise a weak hand to wave.

"Um… So... Shall we?" Neville suggested as he led the way.

The Seventh Year table was on the far left and students who sat there clumped together in their respective houses, looking around and marveling at the changes. At the centre of the staff table sat Headmistress McGonagall who appeared a bit too pleased with herself.

"This is a bit unexpected," Seamus commented as he took a seat opposite Neville.


	2. Starting Over

The Seventh Year common room was rather incredible to the students who stood by the entrance of it, gawking at the high-vaulted ceiling adorned with chandeliers, weathered wood-framed paintings of the ocean and rolling hills, an enormous fireplace that was situated in the very middle of the room, half a dozen couches spread around it, an absurd amount of windows, and what appeared to be a direct access to the library, which was the first thing that Hermione ran over to admire.

"Good God, mate," Dean breathed as he craned his neck upwards to see the tip of the roof. "She went nuts with this place!"

Parvati was pointing eagerly at the view out the windows. Justin and Hannah soon discovered that each of the sofas had different levels of bounce and softness. Hermione, along with a horde of former Ravenclaws had disappeared through the library door, no doubt planning out their study schedules for upcoming NEWTs. Ron, Seamus, and Ernie were poking around for food.

Harry hung back though. He would have all the time in the world to explore the new school. Right now, he wanted to observe Draco Malfoy in an alien environment.

Malfoy had hardly glanced at anyone since he arrived. That sour look on his face still remained. He still walked with his nose stuck up in the air and arrogance in his stance, but there had been no harsh exchange of words as of yet. He had an ally too. Theodore Nott had returned to finish his schooling. Theo was one of those neutral students who chose not to fight for either side in the war. His mother couldn't be bothered, so neither did he. For that reason, he had managed to stay out of trouble and just ease into society once everything had settled down. Smart man.

Draco and Theo were the only former Slytherins in Seventh Year. They were greatly outnumbered. Malfoy's posse had dwindled considerably now that the Dark Army had been defeated. Harry couldn't help wondering why he had returned. School life was bound to be hell for him. Even the professors were going to give him an awful time. Wasn't it better to just stay out of everyone's way and live off of his inheritance? Harry knew that's what he would have done. All this fighting just wasn't worth it.

Draco didn't even survey the common room. He walked brusquely towards the stairs and disappeared out of view. Theo followed at his leisure. Harry figured they wanted prime location when it came to beds.

"Come on, Harry," Ron called out excitedly from a hidden corner of the room. "We found food!"

"We just ate," Harry muttered under his breath as he walked over to his friends. It felt so good to be back.

* * *

A week later, it felt _awful_.

"Hermione," he and Ron whined. "Stop. We haven't even _started_ learning anything yet."

"And whose fault is that?" she chided. They were gathered in the small independent study room adjacent to the library, unfortunately surrounded by textbooks. "We have so much to make up for, especially considering our poor performance in our Sixth Year."

"For _valid reasons_!"

"There is no valid reason for not studying."

"I want to go outside," Ron sulked.

"Alright."

"Really?" He sat up straighter.

"We'll study outside."

"Aw man."

The rest of the school was getting into a shaky routine. It still felt strange to walk into a common room filled with acquaintances instead of good friends. It was always a bit quieter than everyone was used to. No one horsed around and everyone watched their step with their new dorm mates. They were on their best behavior. Harry was sure that Professor McGonagall was mighty glad for that. The last thing she would want is 'mutiny amongst the ranks'. So far no parents had complained about the sudden change in administration and tradition. They were simply happy to be able to send their children to school.

There were a few new professors and even a few more classes, including an Overview On Ethics for the older students and Magical Medicine for all years. As for Quidditch…

"Starting from Year Five, there may be up to three captains per year and these captains are to hold tryouts for team members, who must be over the age of twelve to participate in games. Tryouts must be fairly judged and team members must have astounding conduct. Volunteer professors will be present during these trials to ensure impartiality. Captains must sign up before the end of the week and you will have one month after to pick your teammates."

So there was a possibility for nine teams. By the end of the week, there were eight captains. And, by the end of the month, there would be eight teams.

Harry thumped his head against the table. What had he gotten himself into?

At breakfast he was assailed with potential members. At lunch he was assailed with applications. At supper he was assailed with bribes. Could these people not get it through their heads that he would only be able to pick ten of them? How many times would he have to tell them that tryouts are what mattered, not their gifts?

"Man, this cake's great," Seamus garbled as he furiously dug through all the bribes. "Who's it from? I might have to marry her."

"Dunno," Harry mumbled moodily. "I wish they'd just stop."

"No way!" Ernie and Ron retorted.

"Well, I applaud you for not being swayed, Harry," Lavender said with a decisive nod. "Thank goodness there's at least one captain who doesn't think with his stomach."

It was all fun and games during classes and at meals. But when the boys walked into their dorms, all excitement was muted.

That's because Malfoy and Nott were almost always present, understandably so since there was a curfew to follow and their beds were in the same room as everyone else's.

Malfoy had chosen a bed next to the window and Nott was in the adjacent one.

Harry's bed was opposite Malfoy's.

Neither of them had so much as glanced at each other for the past few days, at least not blatantly. Harry figured Malfoy was going to keep to himself as much as possible. It was the right thing to do, considering. Whatever tension remained between them was well hidden. Malfoy pretended that no one existed and went about his day without unnecessary interactions. Everyone else returned the favor, most of the time simply looking through him.

In fact, at that moment in time, Harry Potter was most probably paying more attention to Draco Malfoy than anyone else.

Harry found his friends gathered around one corner of the common room, sitting on the floor atop pillows and enjoying the Friday night by doing absolutely nothing. He plopped down next to Ginny and rubbed his eyes to push away his mild headache.

"Something wrong?" Ron asked.

"Nah. Exhausted, I guess," he muttered. He shook himself out of his daze and looked around. "What were you guys talking about?"

"Nothing in particular. Just Quidditch."

"Of course you are… I should get on that," he conceded, raising his hands in defeat. "Where do I start?"

"Tryouts," Ginny said with a sure nod. "Lots of tryouts."

He glanced at her slyly out of the corner of his eye. "Want to start your own team, Gin?"

"Oh, don't tempt me. I just might," she laughed. "But then don't you want me on _your_ team?"

Ron pulled a face while Neville and Seamus pretended to swoon. Hermione rolled his eyes at the boys. "Anyway, Harry," she interjected their theatrics, "Ginny's right. You need to hold tryouts. I heard a few Fifth and Sixth Years were already starting. You need to book the field with Madam Hooch too. It's going to be incredibly busy with practices and all if there are eight teams."

"Procrastination _is_ my strong suit."

"Unfortunately."

Their banter was interrupted by the Patil twins walking up to them with their usual identical smiles. "Hello," they chimed. "A bunch of us were planning on hanging out at Hogsmeade tomorrow. Up for it?" Ever since the houses had disintegrated, the sisters had been nearly inseparable. They reminded Harry of the Weasley twins sometimes.

"Sure," Neville answered. Everyone nodded in ascent as well. After the war, most of the students had spent their days with family, mourning and recovering. Now that they were back in school, they were able to return to normal. That meant chatting with friends, horsing around, and being just plain annoying to the patrons of Hogsmeade. Harry saw no harm in that. They deserved to be kids for once, especially now.

That night he was awake when Draco shuffled into the dormitory well after curfew. Fifth night in a row. Everyone else was asleep but Harry had learned to live with as little of that as possible. Staying awake was much better than his nightmares.

He didn't peek out of the curtains surrounding his bed. He just heard Draco walk quietly and then the bed creaked to indicate that he had slid under the covers. No fanfare.

Harry rolled onto his side and wrapped an arm around his stomach. Draco had no right to make him feel guilty about this.

* * *

Never mind the fact that Neville had managed to pull the sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat or that he had beheaded Nagini in one fell swoop…

He was still a doofus.

He had managed to get a bit of his Paralyzing Potion from Potions class on the leg of his trousers and it had gone unnoticed until he managed to dislodge it. It dripped into his shoe, rendering his foot unusable in an instant. He dropped like a stone with a strangled yelp in the middle of the hallway. One thing to bear in mind was that Paralyzing Potion was to be _ingested_. Neville could never make anything right when it came to that class. His potion apparently worked rather well topically.

A concerned crowd grew around him. It was quite appropriate for them to be concerned. Especially considering the fact that as he had managed to rub the potion into his hands as well as he was trying to get his foot to wake up. He was genuinely panicking when Hermione crouched next to him while refusing to touch any part of him. "Don't move," she said with a stern shake of her head. He froze in an instant as though he had been hexed with a body-bind curse. "No one touch him," she said loudly. "Get Madam Pomfrey."

Several students complied and took off in the direction of the infirmary.

"Neville," Seamus tsked. "Look at you. You're such a dork."

"Mmmhmmhmmmhm," Neville whined through closed lips.

"That's right," Hermione said with a grave nod. "Just unlucky."

"How did you get that from 'mmmhmmhmmmhm'?" Ron exclaimed. His girlfriend glared at him to shut him up. In the meantime, Harry, Bernie, and Seamus were trying their darnedest not to laugh at poor Neville's predicament. This was no laughing matter, after all. One small titter and Hermione would have their heads.

Neville looked up at them pitifully.

Bernie sputtered and clapped a hand to his mouth, which made Seamus spin around and clutch a random Fifth Year for support so he could bend over double and laugh. Harry had the control to keep his serious expression in place though. "Shut it," Hermione snarled.

A bright flash and a loud crunch caught everyone's attention. Harry could recognize that sound anywhere.

"For _Merlin's sake_, Colin," he exclaimed while spinning around with his arms in the air. "If I see that camera _one_ more time…" He trailed off incoherently as his heart sank. He had just recalled the fact that Colin had died months ago. He stared at Dennis Creevey as he was hit with a heavy wave of sorrow and disorientation.

Dennis smiled deliberately as he backed away clutching the camera close to his chest. Then he spun on his heel and bolted.

Harry was faster.

He grabbed the Fourth Year by the collar and jerked him back. Dennis croaked when the knot of his tie hit his neck. He was coughing as he was spun around to face the awkward crowd once again.

Harry snatched the still developing photo away. "No embarrassing pictures," he scolded while stooping down to look the young boy in the eye. "Got it, Dennis?"

He looked unhappy for a moment, but then he brightened up and stood up straighter. "Can I get a picture of you instead?" he asked excitedly.

"No!" Harry smacked him over the head. "No pictures."

Dennis huffed at him.

Situations like these reminded everyone that happiness was most often a choice. Seeing Dennis' choice to take up photography like his brother made Harry feel just a bit more optimistic about his own future. Mourning didn't have to just involve crying and screaming. It could be this as well.

Dennis was ranting and raving about how awfully tactless his brother had been when it came to photography when Madam Pomfrey arrived behind him. Harry tugged the boy out of the way by wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him to the side. Dennis attempted to get a few shots of the nurse frowning at Neville, but Harry pushed the camera down whenever he brought it up to his eye. "Oh, come on," Dennis whined. "This is _awesome_. Imagine how _awesome_ it would be to have these photos? Neville would _love_ them."

Neville glared at him.

"See? He would _love_ them."

Harry rolled his eyes as he proceeded to push the camera down for the fourth time. Less than a minute later, Neville was floated out from the hallway with Madam Pomfrey following his levitating body. Dennis muttered something about 'losing the best scoop in ages' while glaring down at his camera and turning dials irritably. Harry finally let go of him once Neville was out of the way and all prospects of embarrassing photographs had been dashed. He looked down at Dennis again. "Take _nice_ pictures," he emphasized. "Not silly ones."

"Silly ones are the fun ones," Dennis grumbled.

Harry suddenly remembered the photographs from his dream, the fun ones.

He jumped back when he was blinded by a bright flash.

Dennis cackled as he took the opportunity to run away as fast as he could with a picture of a very startled Harry Potter flapping between his fingers.

"Ow," Harry groaned while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"He's a character," Seamus chuckled. "You better watch out for him in the shower. He might want to take more 'silly pictures'."

"Ugh."


	3. Potion

Harry felt himself wake up, but knew in the back of his mind that he was dreaming about opening his eyes. Around him was darkness that slowly dissipated as the moonlight filtered through the window. He could make out shapes now and he recognized the room as the Seventh Year dormitory. He felt a bit unnerved as he sat up. The feeling he got at the moment was familiar and eerie.

He looked straight ahead when he heard a soft thud across the room. He found himself staring at a moving figure, realizing that it was Draco Malfoy by the pale hair. He moved as silently as he could and crawled to the end of the bed to look more closely.

Draco walked to the chest at the foot of his bed and opened it. He didn't light his wand. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for. Harry craned his neck to see, cursing the darkness in his mind. Draco closed the trunk and turned to sit on the edge of it, resting his elbows on his knees and bowing his head. Harry squinted to see what he was rolling between his fingers. It looked like a vial of potion.

"Damn it," Draco swore quietly. He used his fingers to examine the green glass vial. It wasn't long before he was bouncing one knee in a rapid, nervous rhythm. He worried his lip too before clicking his tongue in frustration and jumping up to his feet. Harry quickly moved to hide behind the partially closed curtain, but peered out from the side to keep track of his movements.

Draco was pacing by the trunk. Five steps one way and five steps the other. He kept that up for a whole ten minutes, keeping his hands in front of him, holding onto the vial. The way he shook his head was almost as if he was trying to convince himself to do something. Harry felt his stomach churning with dread now. That expression on Malfoy's face… It was the same one he had back in Sixth Year, like he was about to have a nervous breakdown.

He stopped abruptly and squeezed his eyes shut. "Shit," he exhaled. Harry was frozen in shock. This couldn't be happening. Draco uncorked the vial with shaky hands and brought it up to his lips, tipping the potion into his mouth.

Harry jerked awake, nearly choking on panic. He scrambled out of bed and fell to the ground as the sheets tangled against his feet.

He looked around in confusion. It was bright outside and there was no one in the dormitory. He reached for his wand while looking over at Malfoy's bed. Nothing seemed amiss. He blinked rapidly when he looked at the time and found out that it was four in the evening. He was incredibly disoriented by then. How was it four? He couldn't have slept-

"Oh… Right…"

He had passed out in his bed after those Quidditch tryouts he had held in the morning. He breathed out a sigh of relief. It was still the same day. Malfoy hadn't done anything stupid yet. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

That night, he sat at the end of his bed, legs crossed and head bowed as he rolled a Snitch between his fingers expertly. He was watching Draco's every move. In fact, he had been keeping an eye on Malfoy since that disturbing dream of his. As everyone got ready for bed, Harry, behind his hooded eyes, watched Draco go through his nightly rituals.

Draco, to his credit, pretended not to notice as he opened his trunk to pull out his nightclothes. Potter could do whatever he wanted. Being Harry Potter gave him that privilege. Draco couldn't do much about that. He moved away from his trunk to place his clothes on the mattress.

Harry's heart skipped when he saw a green glint nestled inside the trunk, between worn books.

There it was.

He leapt out of bed lightly, landing on the balls of his feet, and closed the gap between him and Malfoy's trunk in one stride.

Everyone in the room froze, Draco included. They gaped at Harry. He had been so unassuming for the past few weeks. What was he doing now? Was he looking for a fight?

He was, in fact, mentally recording each and every item in Malfoy's trunk, hoping he would be able to remember where everything was when the time came. He hadn't realized how extreme Draco's need for order was until he saw the neatly arranged shirts, trousers, shoes, books, quills and parchment in the chest that seemed to have a collapsible bottom so it was bigger than it looked from the outside. The green flask rested between worn notebooks and stacked decorative metal tins of sorts.

Some of the boys snapped out of it almost immediately and looked away, not wanting to make a scene. Others were too amazed by Harry's nerve and so kept staring without regard. Draco glanced back at them hesitantly, but saw from their pale expressions that they had no idea what Potter was up to either. So he turned back to face the strange boy and cleared his throat.

Harry looked up with arched brows.

"What are you doing?" Draco murmured quietly.

Harry flicked his eyes down at the open trunk again and his arm moved at record speed so his hand could close in on a cold, black, round tin. Then he held it out towards Draco and asked, "Why do you have this?"

Draco blinked at the tin that contained waterproof polish for brooms. It was rather expensive, but a little wax went a long way. His father had bought it for him a few years ago…

"You aren't using it," Harry added needlessly.

Draco nearly cringed when he heard those words. He hadn't realized that Potter could be _that_ petty. It was true enough, of course. Why had he packed that up with his belongings? What use did he have of broom polish if he wasn't about to fly? Potter hadn't said anything that wasn't true.

It's just that…

He couldn't believe Potter would say something so insensitive this blatantly.

That stung.

Their first exchange of words and he was already feeling like shit.

"Can I have it?" Harry proceeded to ask.

The worst part was that Potter could extort anything out of him and there was nothing he could do but sit back.

No.

The _worst_ part was that _anyone_ could take his things and he wasn't allowed to do anything about it.

"If you want," Draco answered as his stomach clenched. He turned to the nightclothes he had left on the bed and mechanically unfolded them.

"Cool," Harry mumbled. He now knew where that vial was and he hoped it would still be there later on. He had to figure out what was in it. He had to get it to Hermione somehow. He tossed his Snitch into the open trunk and walked away with a quiet sigh. He also _really_ hoped that Malfoy wasn't going to keep doing stupid things and expect to get rescued.

Draco stared at the Snitch in shock. This had to be mistake. He hazarded a look up while reaching for the golden ball. Harry was slouching against the pillows on his bed with his feet planted on the mattress, getting ready to read his Quidditch Weekly. Draco turned around to sit down in bed and stared blankly at the Snitch in his hands. What was going on?

* * *

Harry slid into his seat in Transfigurations class but didn't notice how all conversation had stopped around him. He was too preoccupied with everything that was happening in his day. Before, when the war was over and he felt aimless, he didn't know _what_ to think about, so he thought about the worst things – people he had lost, the things he had seen, the pain he had felt. But _now_ he had way too many things on his plate. On top of homework and Hermione's insistence that he get serious about things, there were Quidditch tryouts, meetings with Ministry officials, more interviews, and Draco Malfoy. He pushed his glasses up against his hair and rubbed his eyes. There weren't enough hours in the day.

He loved it.

"Hey. Harry?" Hermione whispered hesitantly.

"Yeah?" he yawned.

"Are you alright?"

"Just tired." Sleep didn't come easy to him. On nights that it did, his restlessness kept him up. He had been trying to get into Malfoy's trunk for two days now. Unfortunately, the rat kept everything locked up because he didn't trust anyone in his dorm. As perceptive as that was, it was a pain for Harry. He had tried every charm in the book. He had almost tripped that panic alarm too. So he had stayed up at night. He had to catch Draco in the act, at the very least.

Hermione shifted in her seat. "It's just that… Ron told me about that thing with Malfoy and…" She trailed off when Harry turned to look at her in disbelief.

"What?"

"You know? About your little… soiree," she murmured.

"Soiree?" Harry exclaimed.

"With his Quidditch stuff. You took something out of his trunk, didn't you?"

Harry's jaw dropped. Was _that_ what it looked like? "Th-that's _not_ what happened," he tried to explain himself. "It was a _clear_ exchange of… Quidditch stuff."

Unbeknownst to them, Draco was sitting a few rows behind them, pretending to write.

"Oh." Hermione was confused.

But Ron wasn't about to let it go. He had been holding onto his words for the past sixty-six hours. "But you just grabbed that polish out of his trunk, mate," he all but exploded. "That is the _strangest_ thing I've seen you do."

Harry was scrambling for an excuse now. He couldn't very well try and explain that he was trying to snoop through Malfoy's stuff, could he? Well… He could. He had explained worse stuff to his friends before. "Uh, That… I… S-so?" he stammered in an attempt to save face. "I saw that polish there and I knew he wasn't using it. What's wrong with that? You and I've shared stuff plenty of stuff before."

Ron turned red in the face. "You and _I_," he echoed deliberately. "_You_ and _I_, Harry. Not _you_ and _Malfoy_."

"Whatever," Harry huffed. "You two are blowing things out of proportion. He wasn't using that broom polish and he said I could have it, so I took it."

"He didn't say you could have it," Ron interjected quickly and raised a derisive brow at his girlfriend so she could know this for a fact. "He did _not_ say yes, Hermione. He said, and I quote, 'If you want'. Does that sound like 'yes' to you?"

"Yeah!" Harry blurted out. "That _clearly_ means 'yes', Ron. Just give it a rest, will you?"

Hermione sighed in defeat and tsked. "Harry, that doesn't really sound like a 'yes' to me," she explained gently. "That sounds like… something you would say if Ron asked to borrow your broom."

Harry immediately frowned at both of them.

"It sounds like you wouldn't have taken 'no' for an answer," she continued. "Now, I know Malfoy is… um…"

"A prick?" Ron offered helpfully.

"Right," she mumbled. "But that doesn't mean you're allowed to stoop to his level. Alright? No more bullying."

Harry gasped. "Bully-I-That wasn't-" He bit his tongue angrily. He shouldn't be dignifying that with an answer. He slumped down in his chair and seethed at the parchment in front of him.

Draco had his elbow propped up on the table and his chin rested on his hand as he stared at the back of Harry's head. What a strange turn of events… Potter honestly hadn't meant anything by that little stunt after all. Draco didn't know _what_ to think. Was the precious Savior _that_ simpleminded that he didn't realize the power he held in his hands? Didn't he know that he could ask for _anything_ and it would be handed to him on a golden platter?

When Draco got to his bed that evening and found his tin of polish sitting atop the pillow, he was even more amazed. He picked the black jar up and opened it. It hadn't been used. So why take it? Why return it? Because his friends said so?

Harry dragged himself into the dorm after a late night of sorting through all the Quidditch applications with Ron and Ginny's help. Only two more sets of tryouts before his team was selected. Having so many potential players was a pain in the arse.

He stopped short of his bed when he saw that dratted black tin on his bedside table. He had placed it on Malfoy's bed that afternoon in hopes that he never see it again, but there it was. He approached it warily, his eyes narrowing when he noticed the small slip of parchment sitting under it. It was a note written in Malfoy's pristine handwriting.

It read: _I am keeping the Snitch._

Ron ogled his friend and the tin in his hand. "Uh… I thought you gave that back," he faltered.

"I _did_." Harry threw a stink eye at Draco's bed that had its curtains drawn. "He doesn't want to give the Snitch back."


End file.
